"We shall see that which we shall see," Mr. Daney replied enigmatically.
"I wonder if it is possible he is trying to outgame me," old Hector mused aloud. "Andrew, go back and tell him that if he will go to California to live I will deed him that Lassen county sugar and white pine and build him the finest mill in the state."
"The terms are quite impossible," Daney retorted and explained why.
"He shall get out of Port Agnew," The Laird threatened. "He shall get out or starve."
"You are forgetting something, sir."
"Forgetting what?"
"That I have more than a hundred thousand dollars in bonds right in that vault and that I have not as yet developed paralysis of the right hand. The boy shall not starve and neither shall he crawl, like a beaten dog currying favor with the one that has struck him."
"I am the one who has been struck—and he has wounded me sorely," The Laird cried, his voice cracked with anger.
"The mischief is done. What's the use of crying over spilled milk? You're going to forgive the boy sooner or later, so do it now and be graceful about it."
"I'll never forgive him, Andrew."